If you missed the sign-ups for the Ratzmas RP but still want to participate, have no fear! Simply send a PM to Morkskittar stating that you wish to join in on the fun, and also in the PM declare whether your character will want to help or hurt Saint Ratolas' mission! Further instructions will be sent to you in response; you will have the opportunity to privately influence the outcome of the RP for the other players, and if enough people sign-up late, a spin-off thread will be created, though those who made the sign-up will receive larger rewards.

'Twas the night before Ratzmas, when all through the Pub,Not a creature was stirring, not even a grub;The rat-sacks were hung by the beast-pits with care,In hopes that Saint Ratolas soon would be there;

The Skaven were sprawled in a drunken stupor,While visions of pitfights played through their torpor;And Oksor at the bar, and lemons on the floor,All settling down for a long winter's snore.

When out on the streets there arose such a clatter,Oksor sprang from the bar to see what was the matter.Away to the doorway he ran; very rude,Tore off the doorknobs and splintered the wood.

The glow of the warp on the new-fallen snowShowed the horror of death to objects below,When, what to his wondering eyes should appear,But a miniature sleigh, and eight dying Rat Ogres,

With a little old Skaven, so nasty and mean,I knew in a moment it must be St. Ratolas.More rapid than harpies his coursers they came,And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, CRUSHER! now, LANCER! now, BRAWLER and SLITHER!On, VOMIT! on STUPID! on, BITER and BLITZER!To the top of the pub! to the top of the wall!Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"

As bloodsprays that before the Inqusirats fly,When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,So up to the house-top the Rat Ogres they flew,With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, Oksor heard on the roofThe slashing and clawing of each little... hoof.As he drew in his head, and was turning around,Down the chimney St. Ratolas came with a bound.

He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,And his clothes were all tarnished with bloodstains and soot;A bundle of gifts he had flung on his back,And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.

His eyes -- how they raged! they were all a-gazing!His claws were like swordblades, his fangs like a razor!His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,And the fur on his face was as white as the snow;

The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;He had a bloody face and a sliced-open belly,That shook, when he collapsed, like a bowlful of jelly.

He was chubby and plump, a right nasty old rat,And Oksor laughed when he saw him, and picked up his hat...

"Sir, you seem to have dropped this when you fell down our chimney," Oksor the XX said, annoyance creeping into his voice, and tossed Saint Ratolas' hat on the wheezing body lying on the floor. The rat looked up pleadingly at Oksor, and on the bar and the tables all around, sentient lemons crowded around, eyeing the downed rat. Five-second rule...

The bar was empty; Ratzmas had once been a big night at the pub, but with socialists and cultists and tyranids galore, it seemed no one wanted to go out anymore ((OOC: still in rhyming mode!)). Sitting around a trio of tables near the bar were Tirr, Lacunae, Victor, Franck, and Sinclaw. They eyed the downed rat as Oksor went back to the bar, and the lemons nudged themselves closer.

"Please," the Skaven on the floor said, softly. "I... am Saint Ratolas. Someone... attacked me, and my sleigh... and now I have gifts that I can't give away..." ((OOC: Make the rhyming stop!))

"Will you all help me up, if you please? I am afraid I can't get to my knees. Then maybe you can help me to find, the bastard that did this, and I'll whoop his behind! My Rat Ogres are wounded, and I was included, so maybe we can find a way to bring Ratzmas to all, so I can give gifts to... Horned One save me, I'm sick of these rhymes! Someone just help me up already! Ever since that blasted Raznarth took control here, everyone shoots at me whenever I go past! I'll tell you know, the other Skaven civilizations welcome me with open arms and the free stuff I bring, but Hell Pit? No! Ungrateful swine, but I'm here anyway, though I think my Rat Ogres are going to die without proper attention! And now I'm running behind on my gifts! Lend an old rat a hand, perhaps? Maybe I find some extra gifts for you, eh?"

The lemons were poised to attack...

OOC: RP start. Just RP like you do; post actions, Mork responds, post more actions, ad nauseam. This should last until mid-January, with Morky doing his best to pop in here every other day at least, hopefully more now that he is on winter break.

IC:Victor physically flinched at the blasphemous words of the dying old rat. Horned One? Blasted Raznarth? This guy has a death wish!And then there is this bit about alternate Skaven societies? What's he been smoking?

Before anyone could respond he stood up and knelt down beside Ratolas."Your heretic ways are not welcome here old rat."

Looking up at Oksor XX:"Do you have anything to tie this guy up with? We'll be bringing him to the Inquisition for his proper execution."

Tirr leaned out from his table to get a better view of the situation, taking in the details. He saw three familiar faces, one of whom had been definitely present with Tirr the last time an odd(er than usual) figure came stumbling through the bar. Shaking the memories of that horrible day from his head, Tirr distracted himself by voicing his opinions to the group.

"I'm not sure there is a warrant-bounty on his head this year... He would get off light and then you would have a not inconsiderable enemy. If we are taking him to the Inquisition I suggest we ask-request permanent incarceration. Execution would make a martyr of him to Skaven Supremacists. Mutilation would allow him to act on a grudge. What I would like to know though is what was capable of hurting the infamous Saint."

While tying down Ratolas, making very sure the old rat could no longer move his arms or legs, Victor spoke to Tirr:"A martyr? Ratolas just pretty much confessed to the foulest heresy! If the Supremacists wish to make a heretic the example of their movement, then by all means I welcome them to do so."

After a moment's thought he added: "Ratolas is a heretic and must burn for his crimes, sooner rather later."

Looking at the scene before her, Lacunae shook her head. That slight movement produced a pounding wave of nausea that threatened to unseat her.

"This cloned body isn't working properly yet, I need to improve the Web..." She muttered to herself, before noticing Victor call for a rope.

"Now now, let's not be so hasty. We've all heard the pronouncements, but its quite different when St. Ratolas himself appears before us. If his words are true about other Skaven survivors, then it is in the best interests of Hell Pit to obtain the information! Why give the glory to the Inquisirats?"

Tirr pondered the statements being made before replying: "I wouldn't suggest that they would march under his banner, but the fact remains he is an icon of skavenic culture. His execution would only further alienate some already dangerously radical skaven. If not an oubliette, perhaps the screaming gate?It is both a torture, a warning and an inescapable prison. But this is besides the point, I will make my recommendations to the inquisition and not to some acquaintances. Though I am sure you are all wonderful-things!" Using his good eye to glare at the elf Tirr then added "And we are taking them to the nearest relevant authority." Before the elf could retort, Tirr stalked out of his chair towards the prone saint,attempting to determine how the skaven had received its injuries .

"Fellows fellows, stop the clamor and bellows. Give the old Saint a drink and let him be seated. Thatís how an important guest ought to be treated. Let him quench his thirst and tell his story, first. Forget about his heresy, for itís forgiven by his charity. The Hellcouncil understands: this is not a matter of religion, but of tradition!

Let me tend to your wound, as I see youíve been gooned. So Saint Ratolas, if I may, what is it you have to say?"Franck walks over to the old Saint, attempts to help him up. Then, heíll offer him a seat and a strong drink. While the others talk, heíll attempt to provide some first aid.

Using Sinclaw's rope, Victor quickly tied up the old Saint, and dragged the protesting rat to his feet, while Tirr stalked over, aiming to drag information out of him, while Franck did the same and made sure Ratolas did not fall again. Victor gave the old rat a tug away from the helpful dwarf, and Ratolas whimpered in pain and hissed at Victor, his snapping jaws nearly taking off the humans' nose.

"It's a fine day... indeed when the dwarf holds Skavenkind in... higher esteem than a fellow servant... of the Horned One," Ratolas said, casting deep glares at Sinclaw and Tirr. Tirr, however, was more focused on the injuries; it looked as if a wickedly sharp claw of some sort had torn open his belly, and his shoulders looked as if they had taken several warpstone bullets to them. His nose was also singed; whatever had taken him out was a team effort.

"How this place... has lost it... way. Do you even know... the true meaning of Ratzmas?" While Victor tugged and Tirr inspected, Franck quickly patched up the old saint's stomach, obscuring the wound from Tirr's prying eyes. "There was a time... when the Inquisition of... the Horned Rat... was feared! Back when... 'Ttakquick... ruled..." Ratolas glared at Victor with a baleful eye. "You will never take me alive." A sly look crept into his eyes. "And you'll never save my magical Rat Ogres... on the roof... if you drive me away; how useful they would be to you savages."

"Magical Rat Ogres, you say?" Lacunae's eyes glinted, before she controlled her expression a moment later. "Ah, we are much to hasty now to be talking about rewards. Now that you're no longer going to bleed out, Sir Ratolas, could you explain what happened? It has been many years since Mutae took Hell Pit, but I don't recall the Inquisition ever being able to wound or capture you. Has something changed?"

Lacunae gave the old Skaven a thorough examination once again; he was thin, feeble and barely able to stand on his own two feet. Seeing that he was harmless, Lacunae drew her blade and moved to cut the rope binding him.

Sinclaw stayed sat but drew a gun sword from his belt and leveled it at Lacunae's chest. "I suggest that you stop where you are. That rat is under inquisitorail arrest and were you to Attempt to release him, I would have no choice but to put you down and have you arrested for aiding and abbeting a suspected heretic" With his other paw Sinclaw took another swig from his tankard, eyes never leaving the elf.

"Your move."

You can always trust a dishonest man to be dishonest. Honestly, it's the honest ones you want to watch out for, 'cause you can never predict if they're going to do something incredibly stupid.

Tirr tried not to let himself get distracted by the developing situation unfolding behind him. Straightening himself out he made his declaration: "This skaven has been shot with warpstone rounds, has some minor burns and has been almost disembowelled. If he were to struggle while we got him to the Inquisition he could die of his wounds deteriorating or re-opening. Perhaps he should remain here until properly treated or we could send a runner to the Inquizition or Polizirats. Not to mention what or whoever assaulted-attacked him is still lose. They could arrive at any moment here or enroute to the authorities."With that said Tirr left the prisoner's side so he could procure alcohol and cutlery to treat the remaining wounds. Or torture, which he was in half a mind to do.

Victor eyes Lacunae with poorly concealed disdain."Hold your hand elf. This heretic will go to the Inquisition right now." Turning to Tirr he adds. "Or die along the way, I don't mind. One less heretic to worry about."

With that, he starts to move Ratolas outside, intending to go towards the nearest Inquisitorial office.

As Tirr moved away he called out, not bothering to turn back around "Death is not a punishment! All things die in time, perhaps even death itself! He must pay for his heresy! Execution is only used as a warning to others but who could now follow in the footsteps in a harbinger of a dead god? No, he must be held to account in full for his actions. Let the rat's last true acolyte go out not with a bang-noise, but with a whimper! Personally I think-feel this mistake has already been made with Ikilit."